Sweeter than Heaven, Hotter than Hell
by Yr Alban
Summary: Because together, they're louder than sirens and bells, sweeter than Heaven and most definitely hotter than Hell.
1. Alpha

**Copyright infringement not intended.  
>Warnings: Strong language, mature themes and SPOILERS for ALL of series 5 and so far of 6.<br>Pairing/s: Eleven/Amy, Rory/Amy, Eleven/Amy/(Rory), River/Eleven, River/Eleven/Amy.  
>AN: Okie dokie, well, I'm going absolutely mental waiting for **_**Curse of the Black Spot.**_**Better have some amahzing Eleven/Amy moments or I'll cry. Anyone else pumped? Oh, yeah, enjoy the fic below.**

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><p>ALPHA<p>

_Sweeter than heaven  
>And hotter than hell.<em>

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><p>i.<p>

He's the alpha male. He knows he is, it's obvious in the way he moves and how he talks to the other men. He's used to being in charge of everything and everybody.

He whistles, they come trotting. _Always_.

She hates it. _She's_ the alpha female. She's always in charge, always in control of the situation.

There is no way in Hell she is backing down from her throne - and she knows he feels the exact same way.

So, when he whistles, she just whistles louder.

ii.

"_Hey,_" she breathes into his shoulder, stretching upward and wrapping her arms around him. "_Gotcha_."

"_Gotcha_." He chuckles softly and buries his nose into her hair, holding her tighter to him. They come back with a rush, those damn pesky things. They flutter wildly in her stomach, matching her heart's racing beat.

Her face flushes hotly but she doesn't let go. Screw the butterflies; they can go to Hell for all she cares, as long as she is with the Doctor.

iii.

She feels it when his eyes land on her, burning holes into the back of her head as Rory leaves searing kisses on her neck. She feels it when she meets his eyes after they drop off River at the prison, his face glowing and his lips parted. It's like a physical thing, an actual barrier seperating them rather than imaginary.

So, she lets Rory lead her to their room and loses herself in his touch and his soft kisses, trying her hardest to forget the weight of time.

So, she winks at the Doctor in a knowing way and teases him later over his soppy grin and red face, working past the pain and horror that clenches her throat and her heart simultaneously and tries to forget all of time and all of the what-could-have-been's.

And when she's alone, when the Doctor is puttering about with the TARDIS and Rory is snoring loudily on the other side of the room, she lets herself crumple and be smothered by the weight of fourteen years.

iv.

"_You get older and I don't and this can't _ever _work,_" he stumbles over his words, pulling his braces back up every time she slides them off. Frustration mounts in her, but she hides it behind the overwhelming want and desire that licks it's way through her veins like sweet fire.

"_You are sweet, Doctor, but I wasn't really suggesting anything quite so.. Long term._" She assures him, winding her arms around his neck and securing her position as best as possible. She leans in, crushing her lips to his.

And he responds.

His mouth is moving against her's, his hands are ghosting around her waist before settling on her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. Her heart stutters as hope seizes her and she leans into him, revelling in how _right_ it feels to be pressed against her Raggedy Doctor. It's nothing like being with Rory - it's so much better, it's so -

Over.

He pushes her away, pulling back with a look of immense horror that makes her heart and hope plummet to the floor. "_But you're human, you're Amy!_" He says as if the kiss shocked him, as if he didn't expect himself to react in such a way. "_You're getting married in the morning!_"

She leans toward him again, planning to erase his words from their memories with burning kisses, but he pushes her back again. And that's when she sees a recurring theme.

She's always chasing him, he's always pushing her away.

v.

"How many times have you been in love?" She asks after they helped an alien princess marry her true love, another race's prince, and are back on board the TARDIS. She is perched on the console and he is puttering about on the other side, talking to himself a million miles per minute.

His head jolts up, his neck cracking so loud she can _feel_ it. He winces, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly as he turns to her. "What? Why?" He inquires a bit sharply.

She shrugs. She doesn't really know why she wants to know, it's just a question that's been bothering her for a while now. She hadn't expected an answer.

"Just wondering," she replies. "Go on; how many times have you been in love, Doctor?"

He gives her the _look_. The one that makes her blood chill yet burn like heavenly fire at the same time, that makes her heart thunder and stop all at once. The one that she can only handle for so long before she _has_ to look away.

"How many times have _you_ been in love, Amy?" He shoots back. She looks back at him, giving him an imploring look.

"Once."

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><p><strong>Yeah?<br>Good or eugh? I liked the first three, but after that... :\ Anyways, tell me what you think!  
><strong>_**Yr Alban**_**. **


	2. Gamma

**Copyright infringement not intended.  
>Warnings: Strong language, mature themes, spoilers for series five and six.<br>Pairings: Eleven/Amy, Eleven/River, Eleven/Amy/(Rory), Rory/Amy, River/Eleven/Amy.  
>Part: 22.  
>AN: Okay! So, part two. Yeahh! VI to X, or six to ten. Hope y'all enjoy! (Two days to the new episode. Made my plans - bowl of popcorn, surround sound and NO INTERRUPTIONS.)**

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><p>GAMMA<p>

_Don't let go;  
>I've wanted this far too long.<em>

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><p>vi.<p>

"_Look after our baby_," he instructs her, his beautiful green eyes as earnest as they were the day he proposed, the day they got married. Her heart's breaking, hairline cracks weaving with the gaping fissure lines as her husband, boyfriend, fiancé and best friend turns to dust - but she can't feel it. She can't feel anything.

It's so surreal.

"_No. No_," she hears herself say, but it's distant. Muffled.

She looks away from the remains, a faint anger bubbling beneath the blankness of her mind. "_Save him._" She orders the Doctor, giving him a glazed look. "_You save everyone. You always do. It's what you do._"

The Doctor, oh, the Doctor.

If she was in a proper state of mind, she might have cried or hugged him. He looked so lost, so wounded. It was heart-breaking.

_Crack. Just another fissure, just another rotten, damn crack in my heart_.

"_Not always,_" he says sadly, brokenly, _weakly_. "_I'm sorry._"

Oh, and doesn't her anger enjoy his weakness? Doesn't it rise and swell and take control of her own vulnerability, spitting out words that she doesn't mean, blaming him for things he had no part of?

_It's your fault I fell in love with Rory._

_It's your fault I got engaged to Rory._

_It's your fault I fell in love with you._

_It's all your fault._

She doesn't say any of that, of course not. No; she says something _much_ worse.

"_Then what is the _point_ of _you_?_"

vii.

No one likes losing, being the loser, being defeated. No one likes losing.

So, when the Doctor had given her that challenging look, so similar to the _look_, well.. How could she back down? How could she lose without even starting?

"Take us home," she orders without a flicker of remorse or regret (at that moment), crossing her arms over her chest and planting her feet shoulder-width apart. "_Now_."

Hurt and something else, something worse, ghosts across the Doctor's familiar features and he nodded. "Alright. Okay," he agrees quietly, turning his back to her and putting the desired coordinates into the TARDIS. "Back to Leadworth, yeah?"

She doesn't say a word, she doesn't meet his eyes or Rory's eyes. When they arrive at Leadworth, she marches right on out, not looking back, not saying a word. When the TARDIS wheezes out of existance, when the door is locked behind her and the kettle is on..

That's when Amy Pond (always Pond, always) realises that she _lost_. The challenge hadn't been for her to leave, he hadn't been trying to prove that she could never leave. He had been challenging her to stay, he had been trying to prove that she could never stay with him.

Maybe, this time, she should've tried harder to lose.

viii.

"Do you love him?" Rory asks, rubbing small circles into her shoulder as she leans against him. They're in Rio (finally) and have been allowed to loll about in the sun all day, seeing as it _is_ Rio in 2018 and not much can happen that is classified _DANGEROUS_.

Well, besides Rory's questions.

She starts, jerking away from him and his relaxing touch to give her husband a bemused look. "Love who?" She asks back, innocently. She knows who he's talking about and he knows she knows, but that doesn't mean she's going to _answer_.

"You know.. The Doctor." He answers, sitting up straighter. Her heart stutters at what she finds in his usually honest green eyes, self-preservation instincts yelling at her to _lie_ her fucking ass off. "Do you love the Doctor?" He corrects himself.

_Yes. My God, if only you knew_..

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, as a brother or a mate." She informs her, ignoring Rory's warning look and her mind's own _yeah, right_. It's easier this way, to lie to herself and Rory and the Doctor and everyone who asks.

"Are you sure?" He asks, even though he's already pulling her back toward him and has that _look_ in his eyes. Not the _look_ the Doctor gives her, no. Another look, a more public, more common look that you see everywhere.

The look that makes her stomach churn with guilt and her head and heart hurt.

Amy smiles reassuringly at her husband and leans into his chest. "Of course I am," she says sweetly, lovingly, like a proper wife who only loves her husband and not some mysterious, mad, impossible, sexy man who fell from the sky and left her for twelve years. "Of course."

She can hear the smile in his voice as he murmurs, "Good."

Amy Pond has never been more proud of her amazing ability to lie without being caught.

ix.

Fury and frustration and annoyance and TARDIS-sickness makes her grit her teeth and glare at him. "I _hate_ you," she utters through clenched teeth, venom dripping from her poisonous, misleading words. "I bloody hate you."

His narrowed eyes widen and hurt and rejection and misery replace the anger and irritance and zest. He stops dead, not moving, not looking away from her and not shrinking away from her deadly glare. "Alright, alright," he says quickly, holding his hands up innocently. "Alright. Can I just ask.. Why?"

_Oh, because of everything. Because you made me fall, too hard and too fast. Because you left me waiting for fourteen years. Because I'm pretty sure I _don't_ love my husband as much as I love you. Because one day, you're going to leave us or we're going to leave you._

"You're trying to get me to leave! I am _not_ leaving, Doctor! Just.. Stop it!"

_Oh, hon. Never gonna tell the boy, are you?_

_Nope_.

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><p><strong>Sooo? Last part, so that's it. End of my first DW fic and my first fic in a while. :\ Was it completely rubbish?<br>Review, kiddies.**


	3. AN: For Canadians and Americans!

**Big, big news!**

**For all of us Canadians or Americans or Brits stranded in North America and saying, **_**what the hell is Memorial Day, again?**_

**There is help. There is a solution. Doctor Who always finds a way.**

**So, on Sunday or late Saturday, go to this site and search up **_**Doctor Who**_**. Find the newest episode. Enjoy.**

**(just take away the commas.)**

**http, : , / , / , w, w, w, watch series , dot , eu.**

**If that doesn't work, I'll pm the reviewers of this fic and all my other DW fics the link and put it up in my profile. The same rule applies for A Good Man Goes to War.**

**Heres to wondering why Space and BBCA can't air TAP on Sunday or Monday and AGMGTW on 4 June.**

_**Yr Alban**_**.**


	4. Epsilon

**Copyright infringement not intended.  
>Warnings: Strong language, mature themes and spoilers for 6.06, 6.07, 6.08 and 6.10.<br>A/N: Awright. 'Ere we go, ladies and gents. Enjoy.**

(line)

PART TWO  
>EPSILON<p>

_you kick up the leaves  
>and the magic is lost.<em>

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><p>i.<p>

It's not his fault - she knows that. The Doctor couldn't have possibly known that her baby was an avatar, that the child she clutched to her chest as the shouts of her protectors rang in her ears wasn't _real_, wasn't really _her's_. How could he? She was Melody's mother - surely she could tell the difference between her real, living baby and a ganger?

_Still ..._

"_I am so sorry,_" he breathes, relief and fear and sorrow and that endless, endless pain glowing in his eyes as he takes a step forward. Instinctively, she backpedals, body shifting in defense.

"_Amy, it's not his fault._" Jenny reminds her. She nods vaguely. Yes, yes, not his fault; but does that stop her head from spinning or heart from crying _traitortraitortraitor_ or her soul from crying out for her lost daughter? No, of course not. Nothing can.

She sniffs, still positioned defensively. The Doctor's eyes are bright with guilt now. Amy can't stand the sight of it nor the distance that separates them, but she can't make herself cross the gap and embrace him. Something has broken between them, something that won't ever be fixed.

Glancing sharply down at Jenny, tears pricking her eyes again, she nods again. "_I know_," she agrees softly. "_I know_."

The guilt burning in the Doctor and the pain ricocheting in her own broken spirit is too much for her to handle. Amy turns away from him, letting the mangled hope and faith fall to the floor.

ii.

"You're back." Amy arches a brow at her Raggedy Doctor, folding her arms over her chest expectantly. He had left five months ago, hurriedly and without explanation, the pain of their last ordeal aging his face. Now, he is standing by the bigger-on-the-inside police box and smirking proudly - _sexily_ - at her.

He shrugs, his eyes coolly appraising her. "I always come back," he replies calmly. As if it's the most obvious thing in the entire Universe. _Which_, she thinks, unconsciously advancing on him, _it sorta is_.

Her hands clasp his shoulders and his arms wind around her waist, his body warm and deliciously hard against hers. He smells the same as before - petrichor and rain and soap and something indefinably _Doctor_. Drinking in the scent, she realizes with a grin how much she truly missed the odd mixture, what it does to her - body and mind.

"Welcome home, Amelia Pond," he murmurs into the curve of her jaw. Amy's lips twist into a grin of pure joy, until his finds hers and the Doctor gives her something much better to think about than running and sparking consoles.

iii.

Amy doesn't have to look at him to know his eyes are burning with speculation and indignation. She can feel him watching her, the prickling _bewarebewarebeware_ sensation creeping across her skin eerily. Instinctively, she inches closer to her Doctor - the _proper_ Doctor, not some sham or imposter - reveling in the safe haven his presence provides.

"What are you doing?" Amy asks her Raggedy Man, leaning forward. Her heart pitter-patters pathetically, chased by fear and adrenaline; like she knows she is doing something wrong, but the thrill is much better than the punishment.

His fingers sky-rocket across the keys, his eyes flickering from the letters and numbers to the screen and back again. "Making a phone call," he replies confidently, turning his attention to several levers and switches on the panel. She moves closer still, some tiny part of her unwilling to part with him.

"Who to?"

Returning to the screen, he does not look at her once, while his clone's eyes continue to burn holes into the back of her head. "No one yet." The Doctor answers calmly, coolly. "It's on delay."

_What?_ "Right, not getting it. Why, exactly, are you making a phone call?" Amy repeats, frowning at him. Though his voice had seemed like a salve, soothing over her burning skin like aloe on a sunburn, his words muddle her churning thoughts. Not a thing makes sense.

Abruptly, the Doctor turns toward her. "Because, Amy, I am and always will be the optimist," he informs her with the makings of a grin on his youthful face, spinning in his chair briefly before facing her. "The hoper of far-flung hopes and dreamer of improbable dreams." Grinning broadly now, he spins her.

_Ah,_ Amy thinks as she wheels herself back to his side. _That's my Doctor._ She meets the duplicate's eyes, a challenge passing between the two of them within a single glance. _That, however, is not._

iv.

Months pass and there is not a sign of either of them. Her Centurion and her Raggedy Doctor, both travelling the stars and laughing at silly little Amelia Pond - she had actually thought they liked her, loved her! How stupid she was.

How stupid she _is_, sitting in a noisy room with a sabre and broken handbot. Waiting for her heroes; doesn't she know yet that no one is coming? Hadn't she learnt that when she was seven and five _minutes_ turned into twelve _years_, that no one will ever save you?

Angrily, she wipes at her tears and curses them both. Months turn into years and years turn into decades and really, no one is coming - no one ever has. Stupid, thick Amy Pond with the heart full of hope and brain full of impossible things. There wasn't any space for her, not anywhere.

Especially not with the Doctor or Rory. Especially.

_I don't need saving_, she tells herself when her husband finally arrives and makes sweet promises of leaving this hellhole. _I survived here for thirty-six years. I don't need saving._

_Liar,_ her mind sings back, taunting and redundant because she's already taken Rory's hand and she's already spoke with the Doctor. _You'll never stop waiting. Not ever._

v.

"_River, get them all home!_" He had shouted before disappearing into the TARDIS with a wild grin on his face. The wind had stirred her clothing and swirled around her lank hair, lifting it and tossing both strands and fabric into disarray.

Standing in rumpled clothing and greasy hair, Amy finds she cannot care any less. The TARDIS' outline is burned into the back of her lids, the fragmented shape of the police box all what she can see when she closes her eyes. Shock and pain ripple through her and she blinks rapidly, fighting tears.

He's gone. He left her - _really, it's them, her and Rory, but she can't _not_ see the comparison between now and that day years ago, when he left her waiting in her backyard_ - and he had no plan of coming back for her. How long would she wait now? Five month? Five years?

Amy is getting tired of waiting for a man who never bothers to show up on time.

It hurts too much. (which is silly to say because everything hurts _somehow_, _some way_, and this just hurts a little bit more than usual.)

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><p><strong>Alrighty. How is <strong>_**part two**_**? Yay or nay? Happy Thanksgiving, fellow Canadians, and ... **_**Columbus Day**_** to the Americans.  
>Review. (:<strong>

_Yr Alban._


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